Month: April 2005

ganked from wicked_wish

Extra, extra, read all about it — enterprising fellow risks wrath of U.S. Government, anal probe.

    “So tonight I spied on Area 51. Actually, maybe I should explain a little more, before I lead with such a tempting sentence. If you go to CNN’s website tonight, you will see a story about google’s new map search service. Basically, the company has integrated satellite technology into their map-searching site, and now you can get ACTUAL photographs beamed directly from somewhere in space. This section of the page just launched a day or two ago, and already many people are upset because they feel, for some reason, having satellite mapping software on the web that gives basic users the ability to stare at the roof of someone else’s house is an invasions of privacy (Sheesh, what prudes.)”

Check it out before Uncle Sam shuts it down.
This is far more interesting than hithero suspected.

Meanwhile, these people have been collecting interesting Google Maps.

the positioning of trees

Today is the mind of a day where the light look fake. Rain erasing the horizon and yet light flooding everywhere, diffused godly light. A revelation of light with the water pouring down so brightly that you can see every drop distinctly. This is light for driving on the highway, this is light for the inclination of leaving.

The glass was pretty on the passenger seat, a green pile of sharp pebbles that cascaded to the floor. After filling the building washing machine with laundry and soap to discover that it was broken, I wanted to have a bucket of it to pour into the cold metal bin. We had breakfast in the afternoon at EAT SOUP and lingered over newspapers, quietly comfortable. Something in the door had to be repaired as well as the window replaced. I don’t understand, what happened to old fashioned sparkplugs? Tap, smash, be off with you.

A line for Katie occured to me today: “I hold his eyes in the palm of my hand,” I said. “The silver glitter shine gives meaning to the seven pieces of coin.”

Nothing different, nothing profane in what we were doing.

We were up too late, the gate of night was falling. We were wandering languidly past our bedtimes, past his certainly, the boy asleep in the back. Night here means wandering, night here means nowhere to go. If there were stars to see, we could have, but they were hiding, lost in thick cloud. We set our sights on closed roads, we set our sights on the scars of september eleven. If port security weren’t so ramped up these days, we might have never been deported. From country to country we sailed and I collapsed as if shot against the car when I went to look for the man in the train with the shotgun power. They laughed and we went to play in another part of town. The very end of the road is a stalkers shrine with a cop car that goes around and around all night overnight every single hour. Singing along to the music, I felt like I alone in the universe knew the words to the music pouring from the speakers, louder behind us then before, like light streaming at the speed only it can go. Shining on the road, I leaned forward so the little white strips could see me. We were breaking physics. Glowing pale lines, empty fields, the planes touch down from Tokyo at two in the morning. Andrew stayed awake until we dropped him home.

In the hour and half we had for rest, the car was broken into. Glass smashed into the seats, today was all dealing with ICBC and the auto-glass shop. A third of the city was hit, a few hundred cars. I found out when he returned hours early, when he pulled me from nightmare shakes to explain his stress. I’ve put him to bed, held him and laved him in care until he could sleep. We’re damp with it now, but under the covers he’s warm. Soon I’ll wake him, for we must go and see to the vehicle. It’s not ours, it’s a borrow, but I want him to have every moment in sleep that we can possibly grab.

Occasionally I can pretend he lives here. In spite of things, contentment floods me.

It’s time.

you know how I can tell that I’m classy?

I’m tired. I’m tired and I’m sleeping. I wake because I’m thirsty, so I do something about it. I go back to sleep and I wake for a phonecall. I wake to my lovers voice, his beautiful voice. I hang up the phone. I look up and see blue sky and daylight. I hang up the phone and find lipstick on the spout of my teapot.

This will go up as an mp3 later, I think. Yes.

before I go out to get your present.

Standing with you can feel like movement, like we’re rushing at a thousand running paces with our feet still. It’s distracting, who is the innocent when we’re both lions tearing the throats of our laughter out with sharp teeth? Kissed and tell me, kissed and snakes writhing, desert storm moments of key note ivory playing our song with long nailed fingers. Stone was never so soft before. In the dark we have light because every star wants to sing for us, every shining globe of fire wants to say our names. Casually we accept this, nodding our heads and taking hands before running. This is like sins don’t count, this is like guilt is something to eat off silver plates and discard like missing you. who said I need you first? This is one more year now I’m here to see it, half a year is coming up. Peaks, valleys, a scrape the sky conquering of bedpost notch proportions but better, but lucent. I’d like to think this is special. I’d like to think this is it. Speculation is this is more than I expected, this is stretching hands toward the moon in ways I never have before.

Thank you for letting imagination thrive. You caught me hook in heart. Thank you for allowing me the silk of your hair. You took me for a spirit guide. Thank you for allowing the burn of your eyes. You hypnotize genes into being. Thank you for allowing you to see me right.

I could murder a plate of sunshine right now

Like children, we made a nest on the floor in blankets. He’s was asleep and I typing, hoping the clatter of the keys wouldn’t distract him into consciousness. I wished I too were asleep, but I was working instead, watching the chat clip past a line at a time. I had to put aside my craving, sublimate it, and pay a modicum of attention.

After it was too late, he had to go. Another hemisphere was calling, t-minus candy after running to cripple my leg into limping. I’m used to it, I can take stairs faster on a cane then anyone I know. Desire smells like another place right now, like a drawing room with sunlight in, like walls with colours running down. I wrote once that I felt like taking my blood and throwing it at the sky to stick and I have a bit of that tonight. Let the vivid hues take me, let the drumroll begin. He was a cupped hand full of water with the light of fireflies shining through my fingers. On and over again, the weight of flesh catches my breath in little ways. His hand on mine. My hand on his. It’s sun flashing off water, it’s the flight of a predator bird above me, that scratchy snap as the span completely unfolds. We could be a landscape, we could be minds unfolded into poetry.

It’s Matthew‘s birthday today.
Indie Tits is sincerely the best new webcomic I’ve read recently.

Take me, my dear, to a place (check coats at the door) airport pretty. I fear your breath is what keeps me breathing. My soul changed hands, I’m not. I noticed in time to find where it went. Skin deep is all the knife needs, this guilty pleasure knot crawling inside of me. All I need is something you shouldn’t consider giving. I’m an animal that requires someone to hold this pose with me, dance a little in the middle of the floor. I’m addicted to the paraesthesia you provide in my daily life, in my smiling against your breast, forehead resting underneath your chin.

dear exclamation this song is unexpectedly good

I’d almost forgotten what it was like to sleep and stay there. I felt like a welcome wind caught up my spirit and took it away, hand in hand with the warm body. Certainly, I woke up in aching pain, muscle tension crying through a leg, but that’s a side effect of dancing that I’m becoming used to. It’s like the bruises on my body in odd places, back of the leg, they’re expected now. Penny sized spots that mark where the flesh creaked in angles past reason. There’s no self recrimination anymore when I drive the heel of my other foot into the screaming calf, I only think, “Drat, it’s Sunday already.”

I’m going to avoid walking today until I get myself in hot water.

I crucify my love in supermarkets

Breathe into me, keep me near like a chalice you lift my hips to drink from. Touch your lips to every secret I never told that belongs to me. Tear with your teeth the wrapping. It’s a gift for you to hold me. It’s a blessing that you know my name and grace itself that you speak it with that tongue. That voice of rain and late night serenade. To meet burning coal and devour their exquisite sight is more than I could ask for. Look at me, you say, as if there were choices.

My eyes, if they were cameras, would want to track your every movement for positive amendment. I want to show the world what it is I see, how beautiful you can be to me. You have me holding the train of that long long dress, and it’s too heavy. The laces are caught in my fingers and bringing me down like the lyrics to some pop song. The newsreel doesn’t show this part, I’m walking cliche today and yesterday and yesterday. I’m eating the taste of mead. Since people started pairing off, this has been the meeting place. Crossroads, cross roads, twisting fury hanged-man seeds. Drink it and dream, hot salty drops searing tongue and desire. Throw the peel over your shoulder and avoid the mirror. It’s time to light the night on fire with your eyes closed.

I want to trade in my adorations for new ones that aren’t threadbare

It gets thicker every passing day, my dysfunctional ability to commiserate. I don’t understand why it’s a fight. I want to hold this as a precious thing but now I’m growing afraid. It’s not the Us as much as it is the We. Every day a trial. I wanted to watch you walk away. I wanted to smile and wave like the best little girl I could be but I was a shell. I was on the floor with my back against my too hard slammed door that kept me from smashing the mirror I saw my face in. I don’t know what I could do to change might into enough. My kisses stab me like the sweetest tracheotomy. I need something else to breathe. I need something to break that won’t matter later. The best thing I have laid hands on is my heart.

If I were stone, I went past polished. Erosion, exposition, my tongue is full of sand. Every word has bitter grit lining the edge of the muscle, in the shape of the mouth opening for sound. I could try to explain the draw of it, the lines that curve my body on paper thin sheets at your voice, but really it’s all about waiting for you. Fitting me in where you can. I’m the wrong shape for this, I’m the wrong body purge to be beautiful. Time ticking past and I’m trying to take it. Claim it and taste it. Force malleable thought into pores that resist with fiercer fights every day.

I was almost strong again.

I think about the street, where it leads, the rumours it lends lines to. I think about drama and the scent of chasing down questions I can’t ask of other people, of answers that confirm suspicions I don’t like to have. I think of the moment your face bursts into awe.

I almost broke my door.

Reason doesn’t have very much to do with this. I know by now that inclusion isn’t an option, that it isn’t even broached or occurred to. Temptation truly to harbour hopes of invitation, but idiotic. The door opens in the hall and my heart does cartwheels, fending off the incoming surge of black water which passes for my daily blood. My daily bread is tied into knots, my lungs get caught on the crumbs. Pressure on my chest, I can’t help it. It’s always been here insidious killing and keen? Time to face the music, he’s brought with him a box. It’s full of people, like my things. My real things, not the props of birthday presents. A mouse with wings, a chiseled wineglass, a mirror. Mine are art and his are jewelry, but nobody alive gives me necklaces anymore. Arrogance to think I might sneak in enough, the quantify of social blood and blue blood and here slips this ring. Someone asked from the street if I was okay as I slipped to my knees and curled up inside. My balcony scene, it isn’t done, it’s screaming for the blood of a pilots thumb. It’s crying out for some sort of redemption, the answering machine impossibility. To myself it sings, welcome to this absolution bitch, you don’t get any. This is your theme, your ever present coda. Get used to it because the love song viola rule your life. We’re the sad strings, the unearthy sentimental pulse of hunting the fox down to kill.

Somethings crumbling and I can’t keep up. I am a faulty architect again and again. Shoring up the ocean is impossible, I can’t wait for me to learn what I need, to destroy what I have to. There’s too much, too many whispers in the middle of the night alone. Too many promises. Repeat. I used to know how to put myself in boxes. I used to be able to cry dust from my eyes because it was better than the broken vessels bleeding a red crimson sting. Everything filmed in artery salt water. I looked in the mirror once and felt like a madonna, a holy mary virgin mother. You’d think I would have learned how not to think in russet, but you’re wrong, because I still love you.